


The Angel Room - Vignettes from the Bunker: "Birthday"

by CatherineinNB



Series: The Angel Room [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: And LARPing, Because Dean is EXTRA Like That, Birthday, Birthday Party, Birthday Pie, Bunker Fic, But Lots of Decorations, But No Strippers, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s07e12 Time After Time, Episode: s14e10 Nihilism, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, LARPing, Ma'lak Box (Supernatural), Pie, Rocky and Bullwinkle, Season/Series 14, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Some angst, The Untouchables, and it's his birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 12:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18334775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineinNB/pseuds/CatherineinNB
Summary: With Dean's decision made and his departure to build the Ma'lak Box imminent, Makael tries to help him make some last good memories by celebrating his birthday.Author's Note: This takes place after "Nihilism," and before "Damaged Goods." I've decided to do a series of vignettes from around the Bunker. Mostly fun and fluff, but I'm also referring to meta content, and in some entries I'm addressing fandom theories and ideas.





	The Angel Room - Vignettes from the Bunker: "Birthday"

**_Birthday:  
_ ** Makael checks on Dean a few times over the course of the rest of the night and into the morning, pausing outside his door to listen to the sound of his light snores on her way to and from her own room as she collects and distributes birthday supplies. She’s reassured that he’s actually sleeping, rather than just dozing. So often lately, he hasn’t slept deeply enough to snore. 

She’s already got the coffee going, made the way that Sam likes it—which is significantly less strong than the way Dean prefers it—when Sam stumbles blearily into the kitchen. 

She’s recently discovered that getting little things like that right, even with her grace fully restored, makes her incredibly happy. 

Sam blearily grabs an empty china mug from the cupboard, raises it in a silent “cheers” in her general direction, and pads barefoot over to the coffee pot to fill it. Makael puts aside what she’s working on and hides a smile as she goes to the fridge, taking out some eggs and veggies so she can start whipping up an omelet for him. 

Sam curls his oversized form onto one of the stools, hunching himself over the kitchen table as he sips his coffee. He sighs with contentment after the first swallow. “Good coffee, Em,” he mumbles.

Yup. Incredibly happy.

She’s already cracked the eggs and is stirring them, adding a pinch of salt and some pepper. She gets the pan heating as she slices up some mushrooms and green peppers, and then throws them on to cook before she starts the omelet itself. Sam doesn’t like his veggies crispy—at least not in omelets.

Makael has found that, although she can’t enjoy food anymore, the memory of how it tastes and the pleasure that it gives to the others is motivation enough for her to continue to enjoy cooking. So she’s started regularly making breakfast for those who still do eat. Some days they’re all too busy, but when she can, she does. 

She has Dean to thank for this new skill.

The thought passes fleetingly through her mind, and it takes a moment for it to fully register, to fully contextualize. She feels herself freeze, finds it suddenly hard to breathe. 

_ In a few days, Dean will be gone. Forever …  _

“Em? You okay?”

_ … At the bottom of the ocean, locked in a metal coffin with the monster that’s sharing his body. _

“Em?”

Sometimes Sam has the worst timing. A few minutes ago she could have been weeping into the cutting board, and he’d likely still have absently cheered her with his mug on his way to the coffee pot. Now, the caffeine’s hitting his system, and he’s waking up. Paying attention.

She forces a stiff smile onto her lips, turns away to dump the eggs into the pan. “I’m fine,” she says. Her voice sounds wooden, even to her own ears. She focuses on watching the eggs carefully so they don’t burn as she mixes them up with the veggies, on flipping the omelet all in one piece so it can cook briefly on the other side, on folding it neatly with the spatula and sliding it onto a plate. She grabs a fork and knife, puts it all on the table in front of Sam, not meeting his eyes.

Before she can withdraw her hand, he’s taken it in his. His long fingers curl around her palm, his hand dwarfing hers. “Hey,” he says, softly, “look at me. What’s going on? That was a Winchester ‘fine’ if ever I heard one,” he adds with a wry smile when she finally raises her eyes and meets his gaze.

The compassion she finds there undoes her, and, to her dismay, Makael finds herself bursting into tears.

She panics, and probably would have done something even more dramatic, like snatch her hand away and run from the kitchen, if Sam hadn’t taken moment to stand and put his arms around her.

Her dismay and panic turn into horror as she finds her tears turn into sobs.

_ Sobs. _

A part of her brain tells her that this is completely unacceptable.

But she can’t seem to stop.

Sam is making soothing noises, the kind you’d make to quiet small children or wounded animals, and saying, “It’s okay,” over and over, and Makael feels completely ridiculous standing there with these  _ emotions  _ pouring out of her eyes and making her breath stutter in her throat and chest, and she wishes she could just stop, but somehow Sam’s kindness and gentleness is making her feel those feelings even  _ more.  _

Sam tightens his arms around her, and Makael finds her face pressed against his t-shirt, and with every choking breath she’s breathing in soap and laundry detergent and coffee and deodorant and gun oil and just the underlying smell of skin and  _ Sam _ , and she thinks to herself,  _ I haven’t felt this safe since the Throne Room _ , and that brings on another round of sobs, and dear Lord who absolutely isn’t in Heaven at the moment—and she wishes she knew  _ where  _ he was so she could get him to help them, because she doesn’t know what else to do at this point—she’s frigging  _ hopeless  _ with these stupid, stupid emotions.

“Makael? Are you okay?” 

Jack’s young voice cuts through her emotion like ice. It’s one thing to fall apart in front of Sam, but another thing entirely to fall apart in front of the young nephilim. He’s so … impressionable, and she can’t afford to let him realize that she’s lost hope. So she clenches her fingers at her sides hard enough for her nails to bite painfully into her palms, and  _ shoves  _ the emotion aside. She takes a firm step back, swiping the backs of her hands over her damp face, and Sam’s arms fall to his sides. His eyes are particularly green at this moment in time, and still full of concern, but she forces herself to turn away and focus on Jack’s blue-grey gaze. His brows are drawn together, his entire slim frame tense with concern.

She forces a smile. “Yeah, Jack. Sorry, I was just being dramatic about …” About what, exactly? What the hell would make sense for her to be sobbing like that other than something being terribly, terribly wrong? “About celebrating Dean’s birthday. I’ve … never celebrated anyone’s birthday before. Ever. So, you know, it’s a big deal. And … feelings.” She spreads her hands helplessly, smiles apologetically at Jack.

She knows that Sam is staring at her like she’s grown a second head at this point, and Jack looks … confused. 

“Okay,” he says, finally. “Are you  _ sure  _ you’re all right?” 

Makael clears her throat. “Yep. Just needed to get that out of my system. Help yourself to some coffee, kiddo. I’ll make you an omelet?”

Jack’s face brightens. “Yes, please. Did you make the coffee for Sam, or Dean?”

He’s already grabbed a mug, and is pouring coffee into it quickly.

Makael’s smile is real this time, even if it wobbles a bit as she turns away from him. “Sam,” she replies.

“Oh, good. I like Sam coffee better. Dean coffee is … very strong,” says Jack. He goes to the fridge for the cream, and Makael starts when Sam’s hand comes to rest lightly on her shoulder.

“We’re gonna talk later,” he murmurs, frowning down at her and giving her shoulder a small squeeze before he lets go and settles himself back at the kitchen table. He digs into his own omelet as Jack wanders back to the table, stirring the cream he’s added.

Makael gives Sam a small nod of acknowledgment, then makes her way to the fridge to grab what she needs for Jack’s omelet. A few minutes later he’s taking a bite of a broccoli and cheese omelet, and making happy noises.

Makael turns back to what she’d been working on before Sam came in.

“What is that, anyway?” asks Sam as he walks by with his empty plate.

“Oh, it’s something birthday-ish for Dean,” she says. “He seems to like things with potatoes and cheese, so I found a breakfast recipe that has those things: hashbrown bake. And when he gets up, I have bacon for a side. I just need to mix the hashbrown ingredients up and throw it in the oven.” She pauses. “I hope he likes it.”

Sam turns on the tap in the sink, lets a drop of dish soap fall into the water, and begins scrubbing his utensils and plate. “Cheese and potatoes, it’s a good bet he will,” he says, throwing a smile her way over his shoulder.

“Anything with cheese,” says Jack decidedly, mouth half-full of omelet, “is delicious.” He swallows, and sighs. “Like this. This is  _ delicious. _ ”

God, she loves this kid. He’s just a ray of sunshine—and sunshine is exactly what she needs right now. “I’m so glad you like it,” she says as she dumps everything in a large bowl and starts mixing. She throws a fond smile in Jack’s direction as she grabs a casserole dish and fills it with the mixture, then puts the dish into the oven and sets the timer.

“Uh.” Castiel appears in the doorway, hands braced on the frame, looking mildly perplexed. “Makael? What happened to the library?”

Sam looks up from drying the dishes. “What do you mean, what happened to the library?” he asks in alarm.

When Castiel opens his mouth, starts to say something, reconsiders, starts again, but fails to say anything further, Sam hurries from the kitchen. Makael and Jack trail behind him, and Castiel takes up the rear. When they reach the library, Sam stops dead.

“Oh,” he says.

“Oh!” says Jack, his eyes lighting with excitement. “You decorated!”

Makael looks between the three of them, unable to stop a pleased smile from curving up her lips. 

“You sure did,” says Sam, sounding … awed.

Makael casts her gaze around the room. She knows pride can be a sin, but she thinks the feeling is justifiable given what she’s achieved.

Helium-filled balloons are tied in little clusters around the room in shades of maroon, red, and cream. Streamers—in the same shades—have been twisted together and looped from pillar to pillar. She’s hung a banner in front of the telescope that says, “Happy Birthday, Dean!” in bright, metallic red. Scattered across the tables in a similar metallic red are little pieces of birthday confetti, saying things like, “Birthday Boy,” “Blow the candles, make a wish!” and “Happy Birthday,” mixed in with little metallic stars, balloons, and … squirrels. 

Sam does a slow spin, taking it all in, while Jack picks up one of the confetti squirrels and gives Makael a quizzical look.

“You never met him, but Crowley used to call Dean ‘Squirrel,’ and it became big in the fandom,” says Makael, by way of explanation. “He called Sam, ‘Moose’,” she adds. 

Jack’s brow furrows. “Why?”

While Makael goes into an in-depth explanation of Rocky and Bullwinkle, Castiel sidles up to Sam and says, quietly, “How do you think Dean is going to react to this?” His blue eyes are concerned.

Sam shakes his head. “I … if he’s upset about it, I’ll take the blame. I told Makael she was in charge of organizing things for his birthday. I didn’t … this is a lot.” He swallows, managing to look both impressed and anxious at the same time.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When Dean finally wakes up, Jack and Makael are in the kitchen, watching old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons on Makael’s laptop. 

Makael looks up when he pads in, wearing black pj bottoms and a grey t-shirt, wrapped in his Dead Guy Robe (she had fangirled the first time he wore it, and it disappeared for a while. She’s glad it’s back). He waves absently at the two of them as he shuffles over to the coffee maker. 

Makael grins. Sam might be more of a morning person in general, but the Winchesters are cut from the same cloth before they’ve had their first cup of coffee. She’s also very happy that, because she heard him stirring a while ago, the pot of coffee currently on the warmer is Dean-strength. 

Dean settles down opposite the two of them and takes a long sip of coffee, his eyes still mostly closed. Jack doesn’t say anything—he’s learned to wait until Dean has caffeine in his system. He and Makael, by silent agreement, resume their watching of the cartoon, Jack smiling as he watches the misadventures of the duo onscreen. 

Finally, Dean sighs deeply and says, “Good coffee, Em.”

Makael represses a smile. Yeah, the Winchesters are definitely brothers.

The oven dings, and she gets up, leaving Jack to the cartoon while she gets the casserole dish out of the oven and pulls out the bacon that she’d thrown in a few minutes ago. It’s crisped to perfection.

Dean groans. “Do … do I smell bacon?” he says, lifting his head from his mug and squinting in Makael’s general direction.

“Sure do,” she says as she grabs a plate and starts stacking the bacon onto it.  

“You are a freaking  _ angel _ ,” he says, reverently. 

That makes her laugh as she spoons the hashbrown bake onto the plate next to the pile of bacon.

“I mean, you’re literally an angel,” continues Dean, “but you’re also …” His voice trails off as she puts the plate in front of him. “Never mind, I’m just gonna—” He grabs his fork and spears a piece of bacon. He moans as he bites into it. “This is friggin’ perfection. Thanks.”

She quirks a smile at him as she resumes her seat. “Happy birthday, Dean,” she says, quietly. 

Dean freezes, his eyes suddenly sharp and fully awake. He raises his brows. “That’s today?” he asks, slowly.

She nods as Jack shuts the laptop, looking between the two of them. “Yeah,” she says. “That’s today.”

He closes his eyes briefly. “That’s why—” He stops himself, glancing at Jack before he drops his head and gives a humorless chuckle. Finally, he meets her gaze. “Okay,” he says softly. He scoops up some of the hashbrown bake and takes a bite. “Oh my  _ God _ , this is incredible. What is it?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Makael manages to keep Dean out of the library until after lunch, even though she has to physically stand in his way a few times. The second time she does it, he narrows his eyes at her and growls, “What did you do?”

He keeps forgetting that particular stare doesn’t intimidate her anymore. She merely smiles sweetly, and says, “Birthday stuff. Go away.”

“You know I could move you,” he says, flatly.

She narrows her eyes back at him at that. “Try it,” she says, pointing to herself. “Angel.” She tips her chin up at him, challenging him to take another step, and then deflates when he bursts out laughing.

He shakes his head. “I know you are,” he said, “but dammit, you’re adorable. Like a kitten trying to be a mountain lion.” She scowls, and he holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine. Let me know when I can go in the library,” he says, and he walks away, chuckling. 

When he’s near the bend in the hallway, he turns around, raises one hand in the air, curving his fingers like claws as he keeps walking backward, and says, “Rawr,” just before he disappears around the corner. He’s literally giggling to himself as he continues his retreat, the sound of his laughter drifting back to her along with his fading footfalls. Her scowl deepens, and she huffs before she goes to find Castiel and the others.

Despite her wounded dignity, she can’t help but think, retrospectively, that it’s not a bad thing that she can still make Dean laugh, even now. 

It takes her a while to wrangle the others. Sam’s doing last-minute wrapping, and she finds Jack staring critically at his gift, before he asks her if she thinks it’s done. When she’s finally gotten everyone gathered together in the library, she collects Dean, slipping her arm through his and towing him along in her wake. 

“I’m feeling nervous,” he’s saying, his brow furrowed as he looks down at her. “Should I be feeling nervous, Em?”

“No,” she says, firmly. “Sam vetoed the strippers.”

“Wait, wha—”

He breaks off as they come around the corner of the War Room to face the library. Castiel, Jack, and Sam are gathered around the table, which is piled with wrapped presents. The banner, with its “Happy Birthday, Dean!” is clearly visible behind them. 

She stops and turns, looking up at Dean with anticipation. “Happy birthday,” she says again. She shoots an inscrutable look at Sam. “Sam also vetoed us all singing the Happy Birthday song.”

“Um, yeah. That would have been terrible,” says Sam, his eyes scanning Dean’s face anxiously. Castiel’s expression is similarly worried.

Dean’s green eyes are wide as they slowly move around the room, his face blank. 

“Dean?” says Sam, after a second, “You okay?”

Dean lets out a breath. “Yeah,” he says. He turns to Makael. “I can’t believe you did all of this. Thank you.”

She beams, then grabs his hand and pulls him up the stairs. “Come on,” she says. “Open your presents. We all got you something.” She slips into a chair beside Castiel, and catches Dean looking at the decorations again. “I picked red because that’s your best color,” she says, by way of explanation.

Dean huffs a laugh. “Uh, thanks,” he says. “What should I open first?”

“Here.” Sam slides a wrapped box in front of Dean. “This is from me and Cas.”

“Nice.” Dean grins, rips the wrapping paper off, and opens the plain brown box underneath. He pulls out a shiny chrome object. In the center is a black circle with the Impala logo on it. His eyes go huge. “No frigging way. A rear seat speaker grille? This … this is the right model and everything! Where did you find it? I’ve looked everywhere.”

Castiel is smiling widely, and Sam glances at Makael. “Uh, actually, you have Makael to thank for that,” he says.

Dean turns to her, raising his eyebrows. 

“Um, you two are the ones who figured out what to get,” she says to Sam. “I don’t know car stuff.” Then she turns to Dean and explains, “There’s a Facebook group in the other universe. It’s dedicated to people who own or are rebuilding a ‘67 Impala.  _ Your  _ Impala. They’re all fans of the show. So I popped back and asked them what might be the most difficult thing for someone to find, and they said interior trim was often the most tricky to replace. I talked to Sam after I got back, and he remembered that the rear speaker grille got dented by that Nachzehrer a couple of years ago.”

“The were-pyre, yeah,” says Dean, turning the grille over in his hands, his face alight with enthusiasm. “I mean, I’m not sure if it was him, or her, or—man, Baby got beat up during that whole thing.” 

Makael nods. “She really did. Anyway, over there the parts aren’t as hard to come by—I think in large part due to the show. So I got it ordered for Sam and Castiel.”

“This is awesome,” murmurs Dean. “That’s been bugging me for  _ years _ .” He meets Makael’s gaze, and for a moment, a shadow crosses his expression. She sees it, and her heart drops. Then the smile is back, and he turns to Castiel and Sam. “Thanks, guys. This is perfect.”

Makael forces a smile and looks away.

“Me next?” says Jack, pushing a tube-shaped object toward Dean.

“Sure,” says Dean, already pulling off the birthday-themed paper that Jack’s wrapped it with. It  _ is _ a tube; the kind that posters are packed in for going through the mail. Dean pops the end cap off, then pulls out a thick sheet of rolled paper. Carefully, he unfurls it, and goes still.

It’s a beautifully rendered sketch of the four of them sitting on a couch together: Dean and Sam bookending the group, Castiel and Jack sitting in the middle. All four of them are relaxed, looking like they’ve been laughing, their smiles bright and unforced. 

“You made this?” he asks, raising his eyes to Jack’s.

“Yes,” says Jack, smiling. “Do you like it? Makael said that often children will make something for their parents, rather than buy something, so I decided to make this for you.”

Dean swallows hard. “Kid, I love it,” he says, wrapping an arm around Jack’s slim shoulders, and squeezing him into a side-hug. “Where did you learn to draw like this?” he asks, as he lets Jack go.

Jack shrugs. “I just can,” he says, simply.

Dean lets out an astonished chuckle. “Well, if for some reason this hunter thing doesn’t work out, I think you’ve got some solid alternative options. This is amazing.”

Jack’s face lights up with pleasure. “I’m glad you like it,” he says with a happy sigh.

“I  _ love _ it,” says Dean again, for emphasis. Carefully, he rolls it up and puts it back in the tube. “That is going in a frame ASAP.” His gaze turns to the group of packages in front of Makael. “Next?”

She nods, and he reaches across the table and pulls them over. Eagerly, he opens the first package, and takes out out a charcoal grey fedora with a wide black ribbon band. “Uh.” He frowns, looks up at her. “Thanks for the hat?” he says.

She rolls her eyes. “Keep going.”

He opens the next box. It’s a white dress shirt, navy vest, cufflinks, and a navy and bright blue checkered tie. His frown deepens, and he glances up at her again.

“Keep going.” 

When the next package reveals a navy blue suit cut in a 40s style, Dean’s eyes get big, and he starts to smile. “No way,” he says.

She grins. “Keep going.”

The final package contains a charcoal grey overcoat … and a leather shoulder holster. “No freaking  _ way _ ,” he says.

“I thought we could have a movie night,” says Makael. “A  _ themed  _ movie night.  _ The Untouchables? _ ” 

“Aw,  _ hell _ yeah,” says Dean, his eyes sparkling. Then his face falls. “But the rest of you—”

“I let Sam veto the strippers and singing Happy Birthday,” she says, “but he didn’t get to veto themed movie night. I got everyone getups. You know, so we can  _ all  _ be extra.”

Dean throws back his head and laughs: a full-throated belly laugh. “Oh, Sammy,” he says, finally, “I cannot wait to see what she got you.”

Sam gives a small, long-suffering smile.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean spends the rest of the afternoon installing the new rear speaker grille in the Impala and making a run into town to pick up a frame for Jack’s pencil sketch.

It takes a while for Makael to get ready. She decides, after wrestling with rollers, heat, and styling for over an hour, that women of the 1940s must have had a lot more time than they do today, if it’s taking her this long just to do her hair. This seems counterintuitive, given that there was war going on and women were entering the workforce in droves for the first time. 

By the time she slips on her black Oxford heels and laces them up, smoothes down the red day-dress with its white and blue flowers, and adjusts the white belt around her middle, she’s finding herself incredibly grateful for modern jeans and t-shirts. She examines her minimal eye-makeup, and purses her lips as she smoothes matching bright red lipstick over her lips, pats her hair into place, and makes her way to Dean’s room. 

He’s just finished hanging the framed sketch, and is adjusting it on the wall with a critical eye. “All right,” he says with a firm nod as she knocks on the door. “Whaddya thi—” He turns, and then falls silent, his jaw dropping.

“Well, look at you,” he says after a moment, raising one brow as a mischievous smirk lights up his face. “You clean up nice, Em. Love the Katherine Hepburn hair.” He nods appraisingly, lips turning down at the corners in what Makael has learned is actually not a frown, but one of Dean’s more playful smiles. 

She tilts her head. “Thank you.” 

“I guess I should get changed, huh?” he says. 

“Yup. Where are the others?”

“Sam’s setting up the projector so we can watch this sucker on the big screen in the library,” says Dean. “No idea where Cas and the kid are.”

“All right. I guess I’ll go start making drinks,” says Makael. She starts to turn, then halts, her expression troubled. “Is … is all of this really okay? Castiel and Sam, they didn’t mean for me to overhear, but they were worried you might not like this. And the timing … if there are other things that you’d prefer to be doing today—”

“Um, ‘A,’ I am loving every frigging second of this,” says Dean. “Are you kidding me? I haven’t gotten to dress up in a cool outfit like this since …” He swallows hard, drops his gaze suddenly. “Well, the last time was LARPing. With our Charlie.” It takes him a moment to compose himself, and then he raises his eyes again. “And two? I get to make some more good memories before … you know. That’s a good thing.  _ All _ good, Em.”  

Makael nods, tightly. “Okay.” She wants to say more, but finds that, once again, she can’t get the words out. Instead she reaches out and touches Dean lightly on the arm. She gives him a tentative smile. “I’ll go make some drinks.”

“Ooh.” Dean raises his brows. “Are we getting period drinks, too?”

“Gin rickeys?” she returns. “Or we could have them they original way, with bourbon. I got both.”

“Bourbon,” says Dean, instantly, nodding vigorously.

Makael smiles. “I’m also making Southside Fizzes, but I wasn’t sure if you’d like those.” She pauses, taking in Dean’s skeptical expression. “Although they  _ were  _ Capone’s favorite drink,” she says, arching her brow at him, before she flounces from the room.

She does have to admit, skirts make flouncing not only possible, but fun.

“Wait,  _ Capone  _ Capone?” Dean calls after her. She grins.

Castiel finds her in the kitchen as she’s muddling mint for the Southsides. He clears his throat, and she looks up. Her entire face lights up when she takes in his attire. She picked out a blue suit of a similar cut and style for him, but it’s a lighter blue than Dean’s, more of a royal blue, which picks up on the brilliant blue of his eyes. His tie is striped shades of charcoal and grey, and the shirt beneath it is such a pale blue that it’s nearly white, the vest a light grey. He’s holding a matching grey fedora with a wide charcoal ribbon band around it, shifting awkwardly on his feet. The wide cut of the shoulders and the nipped-in waist of the jacket show off the masculine lines of him that are, usually, obscured by his trenchcoat.

“Brother!” She puts aside the pestle she’s using on the mint and rushes over to him. “You look  _ amazing _ !”

“Do I?” He grimaces. “I’m very much unused to wearing anything … different.” He looks down at himself and his attire, rather helplessly.

“Well, that’s why I stuck to blue, since you’re used to wearing a navy suit,” she says, soothingly. He’s slicked down his dark hair, doing a more accentuated part than normal, and he looks … dapper, like he’s just stepped out of a 1940s fashion magazine for men. She gives him a quick, fierce hug. “Thank you,” she says. “This is going to mean a lot to Dean, and I think it will make him happy.” 

She doesn’t say how important that is right now. She doesn’t need to—even though the others don’t know the whole picture, they can see how bad things have gotten.

Castiel sighs and nods, gives her a slightly strained smile. He rolls his shoulders, then awkwardly straightens his jacket. His eyes alight on the bottles that are spread out on the counter. “Oh, good,” he says, and adds, without a trace of irony, “there’s alcohol.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam is in the library, wrestling with an ancient projection screen that he’s got set up just in front of the steps down to the War Room. His dress shirt (white with thin stripes in a taupe grey, creating a checkered pattern) is unbuttoned at the cuffs, the sleeves rolled up. His vest and pants are in the same color scheme, but are inverted, so they look a nearly solid brownish-grey, with faint white checks. His silk tie (also grey-brown, but solid in color) is thrown over his shoulder as he bends over, fiddling with the connection between the lower half of the screen and the stand.

Makael takes a moment to appreciate her vantage point as she puts the drinks tray down next to his discarded hat and suit jacket. She wasn’t sure if she’d picked the right color scheme for Sam, but seeing the outfit now—the whiteness of the dress shirt popping against the tan of his skin, the silk back of the vest, replete with buckles that accentuate the long slimness of his waist—she’s satisfied that she did a good job, after all.   

Sam swears under his breath and then lets out a triumphant, “Ha!” as something clicks into place. “Finally,” he says as he straightens. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face as he turns to Makael. “I thought, given the whole theme night, we should have an old-fashioned movie-going experience, but this Men of Letters screen is so finicky, it just took me forever … to …” His voice trails off, his expression smoothing into blankness as he looks at Makael.

She realizes she’s been biting her lower lip, and lets it go. “Sam?” she says, furrowing her brow. “You okay?”

“Uh,” he says, and then his eyes shift and something like relief floods his face. “Hey, Jack! Looking good!” 

Makael turns to see Jack standing uncertainly in from the door to the right of the telescope. He’s wearing a light grey, pinstriped suit, with a grey fedora perched on his head at a rakish angle. The lilac band around his hat matches his pocket square. Makael claps her hands together with delight. 

“Jack! Oh, it’s perfect on you!”

Jack’s uncertainty fades at the praise from them both, and he makes his way into the library. “Really?” he says. “I’ve never dressed up like this before, except when I worked that case with Dean and that suit was … very different from this.” 

“Men in the 1940s still peacocked,” says Makael, with a grin. “That’s the difference.”

“What’s peacocking?” asks Jack, frowning.

“Hey! Look at you guys—and dame,” says Dean, coming in from the War Room, with Castiel trailing behind him. Dean’s fully decked out in his getup, his own hat tilted jauntily. “I’d say we’re ready for a movie.”

Makael shakes her head. “First, pictures,” she says, firmly. Castiel gets a deer-in-the-headlights look, but Dean is totally on board—and it’s his birthday, after all. Sam ends up taking most of the group selfies, because his arms are the longest. Jack and Makael stand in front of the others (as the shortest ones), and they all crowd in close so they fit on the screen of Dean’s phone. They take normal, smiling photos, and then Dean insists that they do serious “gangster” faces, which Makael says, after reviewing the images, is much more of a CW smolder than a gangster look, which she then has to explain, which cracks Dean up and makes Jack grin, while Castiel looks perplexed, which then leads to silly photos. 

They take a few more with the fancy drinks that Makael has whipped up, and then Dean takes individual photos of all of them in various poses around the library, “Since we’re all finally classy enough for this joint,” and then he has Sam take one of him and Makael while he playfully dips her in what he says is a era-appropriate dance move: something called “swing.” She has a hard time keeping a straight face while a grinning Sam takes the photo, and she comes up giggling. 

Finally they all sit down, and Sam gets the movie going. 

Makael realizes, later, that she spent more of it watching the people in the room than she did what was on the screen. Not to say that Kevin Costner wasn’t riveting, or that the movie disappointed in any way. But she found herself wanting to take in as much of the  _ now  _ as possible: the now of Dean Winchester saying, “Oh, this part is so gross. Look at the blood smear! Ha,” or, “Those Canadians are such squares. The Chicago Way  _ all  _ the way, baby!” Jack casually pulling out a chocolate bar full of nougat from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and munching on it while he stares wide-eyed at the screen and drinks everything in like a thirsty sponge. And then pulling out another. And another. Dean declaring that they are missing popcorn, and, after it’s popped, Sam and Dean arguing over who gets to hold the popcorn bowl. Dean complaining that Sam always skimps on the butter. Castiel stating matter-of-factly Al Capone had good taste as he downs three Southside Fizzes like shots—and Sam giving him side-eye as he does so. Jack asking questions that make Sam have to pause the movie, like  _ I thought Mounties wore red uniforms; why aren’t they wearing red?  _ and  _ Wow, George Stone was as good a shot as Sam and Dean! Was he  _ actually  _ that good a shot? _ And  _ Why didn’t that lady just walk her luggage up to the top of the stairs and then go back and bring the baby carriage up?  _ Dean surreptitiously sneaking a sip of Makael’s drink, and then quietly switching from his bourbon rickey over to Southsides. 

When the final credits roll across the screen, Dean sighs happily. “Well, guys and dolls: that was awesome.” He slants a look in Makael’s direction. “Good call.”

Makael’s lips turn up with pleasure at the praise; she catches Sam looking at them both with a small smile, and he gives her a little nod of approval, which makes her warm even further.

“It was quite an enjoyable movie,” says Castiel, consideringly. “I’m still not sure why we needed to wear these clothes to watch it, though.”

“Immersiveness makes everything better, Cas,” drawls Dean, looking over at him from across the table. 

Castiel frowns. “I still don’t—” 

Dean cuts over him. “Speaking of which, gotta say, Ness was just as cool in person.”

“Wait,  _ in person _ ?” Jack’ eyes become huge.

Dean turns in his chair and throws Jack a bright grin that borders almost on boyish. “Oh yeah. I got to meet the big man himself. And get this— _ he was a hunter _ .”

“Tell me everything,” breathes Jack, wide-eyed.

Sam shakes his head good-naturedly as Dean kicks his feet up onto the table and tilts back his chair, and begins to tell the story of one of his (several) trips through time. Makael’s watched the episode " Time After Time"  more than once, but it’s different hearing it through Dean’s memories of events, and she finds herself asking questions right alongside Jack.

“Wait, so you wrote Sam a message that you left under a piece of a door frame in a house in  _ 1944  _ so that he’d be able to get it in 2012? And he actually did?” asks Jack, looking between the two of them.

“I actually did,” says Sam, with a smile.

“That’s incredible!” says Jack.

“No; what’s incredible is that I got to play good cop/bad cop with Elliot damn  _ Ness _ ,” says Dean.

“You know,” says Makael, “I do have the Season 7 DVDs. We could just—”

“ _ No _ ,” say Sam and Dean, emphatically and simultaneously.

Makael deflates. The brothers seem to have an aversion to seeing themselves on screen, which perplexes her. 

“It’s freaking _weird_ , Em,” says Dean, taking in her expression, “seeing not-me me acting out things that I actually lived. I mean, aside from the fact that they somehow know everything—which we still haven’t figured out, and is _still_ creepy as fuck—it’s just weird _watching_ myself doing things that I did and saying things that I said. And that’s not even getting into the fact that somehow there are actors over there who are alive _now_ who look exactly like people that lived _here_ during World War Two, or the seventies, … it gives me a damn headache.” He pauses as Sam gives Makael a ‘ _what he said’_ look. Then Dean adds, “Also, I do not say awesome that much.”

“Yes, you do,” says Cas.

“You literally just said it ten minutes ago,” says Sam.

Dean scowls.

Jack looks at Makael, then mouths, “We’ll watch it later.”

Makael grins, and then the  _ later  _ hits her, and she has to look away quickly. She rises to her feet. 

“Just one more thing,” she says as she makes her way in the direction of the kitchen. “Castiel, can you give me a hand?”

“No DVDs!” shouts Dean after her. 

She turns so that he can see her roll her eyes. Dean throws her his sauciest smile.

A few minutes later, she returns with a dish. What’s inside it is covered in candles, and she’s carrying the whole thing using potholders. Behind her trails Castiel with a knife, dishes, forks, and red napkins that match the decor. Dean’s eyes widen as she comes around the corner.

“… is that … pie?” he demands.

“Birthday pie,” she confirms as she sets down the pie in front of him. The pastry on top is crisscrossed; the candles are sunk into the filling.

Dean’s face lights up. “ _ Cherry  _ birthday pie,” he breathes.

“ _ Homemade  _ cherry birthday pie,” says Sam. “She’s been trying out different recipes whenever you were gone. Jack and I helped her pick out the best one.”

“In other words, you’ve been eating pie without me all week,” says Dean, his brows lowering. Then he looks at the pie in front of him. “Okay, I’m getting at least half of this sucker, and I’m not gonna even feel bad about it.” His tone is smug.

“Blow out the damn candles, Dean,” says Sam, laughing.

Dean does, and Makael puts him in charge of cutting it up. Once the pie is distributed (only to Jack and Sam, of course), he sets a huge piece on the plate in front of him, then takes a bite. 

“Ohmahgawd that is amazing,” he says through a full mouth. He swallows. “And it’s still warm. Em, you have outdone yourself.”

“This is definitely the best one yet,” says Jack, and Sam smiles and takes another bite.

Dean has seconds before he’s even done with his first helping, and Makael thinks to herself that it couldn’t get much better than that.

It’s well past midnight by the time they’re done. Sam and Jack work on dishes while Castiel and Dean work on cleaning up the library and taking the decorations down. Makael has just finished putting saran wrap over the remaining pie, and is closing the refrigerator door as Jack patters away happily at Sam in the background, when Dean comes up behind Makael and pulls her into a side hug.

“Hey,” he says quietly as he looks down at her with serious eyes, “this was awesome. Thank you. I mean that.”

There’s not much that Makael can say in front of Sam and Jack, which is probably what Dean intended, so she merely looks up at him and smiles. “I’m glad you had a good time, Dean.”

“Oh, I had a  _ great  _ time,” he says, letting her go and raising his voice so the others can hear. He makes his way to the door that leads to the back end of the Bunker, where the rest of the rooms are. He stops in the doorway and turns as Castiel comes in the other door from the library, carrying a trash bag full of discarded wrapping paper and streamers. Jack and Sam look up from the dishes as Dean lifts his hands and spreads his arms triumphantly. “Happy birthday to me,” he says, then disappears into the hallway.

Sam chuckles as Dean starts singing the Happy Birthday Song tunelessly to himself, the noise drifting back toward them:  _ happy BIRTHday to MEEeee … HAAAAAPPY birthday to MEEEEEEE. _

“You were right,” observes Castiel as he tucks the trash under the sink, then shrugs off his jacket and folds it over his arm, “this  _ did  _ make Dean happy, Sister.”

“Yeah, Em,” says Sam, from across the kitchen. “You did good.”

Makael smiles, but her eyes stay fixed on the doorway where Dean just stood. As the others begin to talk amongst themselves, she murmurs to herself, very quietly, “Happy birthday, Dean Winchester.”

**END SCENE.**

**Author's Note:**

>   1. So there really is a lovely group on Facebook that is devoted to people who own or are rebuilding a Winchester Impala. They are _incredible_ , and so knowledgeable, and go down to details like the carving of the initials and finding the actual objects that are in the weapons cache in the trunk. When I realized that I was going to do a birthday fic and was thinking about gifts Dean would appreciate, of course I immediately thought about the Impala, so I went over there and asked what it typically hard to find as replacement parts. The consensus was that interior trim bits can be the trickiest. So I decided to look for those kinds of items and, after some further research, settled on the rear speaker grille. Big thanks to _Metallicar Owners_ for their kindness and help.
>   2. Makael’s suit for Dean was based heavily on what he actually wore in “Time After Time” (as an aside, damn, he looked good in that episode). I did extensive research for the other outfits (I tend to not be super confident when describing any clothes, but also wanted to make sure my 1940s fashion details were accurate). Much of what I describe in the story was drawn directly from information and photos in the online period fashion resource _Vintage Dancer_ , which I am so thankful to have discovered. What Sam, Dean, and Cas wear is all typical of middle and upper class men’s fashion of the period; what Jack wears is more typical of gangster-wear of that era, which tended to be more flashy (partly to show off their wealth, partly to literally show off their gang’s colors). 
>   3. Not sure anyone picked up on it, but Makael’s line about being extra is a throwback to her first interaction with Dean, when she asks him about his insurance agent getup during “Mint Condition.” A lot of this vignette was meant to highlight the growth in her relationships with all the members of Team Free Will 2.0, but especially with Dean, so I wanted to bring back something from their early interactions as a way of reminding the audience about just how far they’ve come.
>   4. The Southside Fizz really was the drink of choice for Al Capone. I was over the moon when I discovered this, since I’d already decided there was going to be an _Untouchables_ movie night. It consists of gin, lemon juice, club soda, mint, and simple syrup. According to my research, it differed from what was drunk in the north side of Chicago (simply gin and ginger ale) because the booze runners there had a much smoother gin than Capone’s crew did. I figured Makael would make them heavy on the simple syrup, which would be why Castiel likes them so much. Also, bourbon rickeys were really a thing. However, during prohibition, they were replaced with gin because gin was something people were able to make more easily (in many cases, literally in bathtubs). That’s why, today, we know the Gin Rickey, but not the Bourbon Rickey.
>   5. This will be the last entry in the _Vignettes from the Bunker_ series. Next entry will take place during “Damaged Goods” and I’ll be trying to catch up to live with the season finale. Wish me luck!
> 



End file.
